CHAPTER -1-
The rain fell softly, melancholic. The city lights reflected sluggishly in the puddles on the sidewalk. Fine raindrops gently disrupted the greasy stains of dissolved filth in the water, creating a grim version of a melted rainbow.
Cassian Gray stared through the grimy bar window at his own distorted reflection and ignored the sullen bartender who, clutching a suspiciously clean rag, diligently—almost angrily—polished glasses behind the counter. The muffled music from dusty speakers, much like the former U.S. Air Force captain, tried not to draw attention.
Cassian sighed heavily, shifting his focus to the television screen mounted crookedly above the bar. The news ticker ran—overflowing, as usual, with reports and exposés on vampires. It had been a month since their existence was announced with fanfare at a UN assembly. A man, barely more than a boy, claiming to be an Archon, had done it. In those few minutes, the world had changed forever. It made Cassian feel even more lost and obsolete.
"Another one?" the bartender asked, nodding at Cassian's empty glass.
"No, thanks," he replied, rubbing his tired eyes. "Guess it's time I headed out."
The bartender gave a noncommittal grunt and turned to rearrange bottles behind the counter. Cassian left a bill on the bar and slowly pulled on his frayed black fingerless gloves. He hesitated for a moment before wheeling his chair toward the exit. The bar's atmosphere—or maybe the TV's muted buzz, or perhaps the thick air saturated with cigar smoke and alcohol fumes—made him pause.
"What do you make of all this... situation?" he asked the bartender.
The man behind the counter froze with a bottle in hand and squinted at Cassian.
"The vampire thing?" He snorted and spat to the side. "Nothing good, if you ask me. Those bloodsuckers are a threat to all of us. Doesn't matter if they're playing sheep now."
Cassian tensed involuntarily. He tried to keep his expression neutral, though inwardly, he agreed completely.
"Are we judging too quickly? We don't know much about them yet."
The bartender shook his head.
"We know enough. They feed on blood, for Christ's sake! You feel safe knowing creatures like that are walking free? How you gonna outrun 'em in that chair?"
Cassian suppressed the urge to nod.
"They claim they want peace and coexistence. Maybe we should give them a chance?"
"A chance for what? To eat us in our sleep?" The bartender scoffed. "Look, pal, I'm a simple man. Seen enough of this world to know when somethin' seems too good to be true, you gotta read the fine print."
Cassian pondered. Part of him wanted to openly agree, to share his own fears and doubts. But another part—the one that marched forward waving idealistic banners—held him back.
"Maybe you're right," he said finally. "I'm afraid if we reject them without a chance, we'll turn them into exactly what we fear."
The bartender leaned forward against the counter.
"Listen, kid. I get you wanna be decent. But sooner or later, you gotta pick a side. I'm picking the side of living, breathing people."
Cassian felt his internal conflict deepen. He glanced back at the TV, where footage of the Archon's latest statement played.
"Maybe you're right," he murmured. "Maybe I really should…"
The bartender shrugged and turned to another customer. Cassian stared at his hands, remembering when those fingers had once commanded the complex systems of fighter jets. Now they were condemned to spin the wheels of this damned chair.
The memory of the accident invaded his mind, unbidden and painful: flying at supersonic speed during a routine training mission. Suddenly, all systems failed. The last thing he remembered was the dispatcher's warnings in his headset and the ground rushing toward him at terrifying speed.
Cassian gritted his teeth, banishing the memory. This wasn't the time for self-pity. The world was changing, and here he sat, drowning in his own bitterness.
"Time to move," he muttered, gripping the chair's handles.
Outside, the cold night air hit him like a slap. The streets of New York pulsed with life—hurried pedestrians, honking taxis, laughter from a nearby restaurant. In his chair, Cassian felt utterly detached from the whirl around him. He tensed his muscles and pushed slowly along the sidewalk, disturbing the greasy puddles. People flowed around him. Some glanced with pity; others ignored him completely. Cassian didn't know which was worse. He wanted to shout: "Hey, I'm not a leper!"
He was nearing the intersection when two men materialized before him as if stepping from the shadows. Cassian jerked to a stop. His right hand flew to the piece of pipe strapped to his wheelchair's side, but he released it upon seeing their immaculate military uniforms.
"Captain Cassian Gray?" asked the taller of the two in a voice tempered to command, hard as steel.
Cassian gave a curt nod, studying their faces. Their tension was palpable, eyes darting nervously across the passing crowd.
"We have orders to escort you," said the shorter, stockier man. "Please come with us."
Before Cassian could respond, the taller officer produced an envelope from his inner jacket pocket and handed it over.
"Your recall notice, sir."
With trembling hands, Cassian opened the envelope. A single sheet of paper bore an official seal at the bottom. His eyes raced across the text:
"By order of the Commander-in-Chief, Captain Cassian Gray's active duty status is hereby reinstated effective immediately. Your country needs you. Flight departure: 23:00."
Cassian checked his watch—10:15 PM. His heart hammered against his ribs.
"What does this mean?" he rasped. "I'm... I'm not active duty anymore."
The soldiers exchanged a glance.
"Apologies, sir. We're not briefed beyond our orders," the taller one replied. "We're to escort you to the airfield immediately. Our transport's parked over there."
Cassian's gaze followed to the black van bearing the GMA insignia—a red-and-blue globe. His mind reeled. What the hell was happening? Why would they want a broken pilot in a wheelchair?
"GMA?"
"Affirmative, sir."
Cassian stared at the Global Military Alliance logo. The newly formed organization claimed to protect humanity, but its alliances with both human armies and vampire clans raised too many questions. How could there be peace between predators and prey? Whispers of black-site experiments and forbidden weapons surfaced in his mind. None of this made sense.
"Sir?" The taller officer's voice snapped him back. "We need to move."
Cassian swallowed hard, suspicion coiling in his gut. The GMA presented itself as a bridge between species, but he couldn't shake the feeling it was more like a pit waiting to swallow them both.
"And if I refuse?" Cassian asked, more from curiosity than defiance.
"That's not an option, sir," the stocky soldier said icily. "Our orders are clear. You will accompany us. Immediately."
Cassian's stomach clenched. Part of him wanted to turn his chair around, disappear into the nearest bar, and forget this ever happened. But another part—a part that had lain dormant for months—stirred awake. Adrenaline sharpened his senses, making him feel more alive than he had in years.
"Fine," he said at last, straightening in his chair. "Lead the way."
As they moved to assist with the wheelchair, Cassian waved them off.
"I've got it," he muttered, pushing himself toward the van.
Up close, the van's tinted windows deepened his unease. What were they hiding? Or who?
"Excuse me," he said to the shorter officer, "any idea why I'm being recalled? Can't imagine I'm much use in this condition."
The man shook his head.
"Sorry, sir. That's above our clearance. We were told it's urgent."
Cassian gritted his teeth as anger and helplessness warred within him. He was used to controlling situations, knowing every operational detail. Now they expected him to leap blind into the unknown. Him! The cripple!
The van door hissed open. In the dim interior, Cassian discerned two figures. Well, at least they didn't just pluck me off the street.
"Captain Gray," came a voice from within, "welcome aboard, sir."
Taking a steadying breath, Cassian prepared to board. Then a passing taxi's headlights illuminated one passenger's face—unnaturally pale skin and eyes that seemed to glow. Cassian's heart skipped. Vampire. They expected him to enter an enclosed space with one of them.
"Everything alright, Captain?" asked the tall officer behind him, noting his hesitation.
Cassian drew a deep breath and tensed his muscles. He began maneuvering up the ramp. Questions swarmed his mind, but the physical effort required to board drove all thought away.
As he settled in, the two soldiers took front seats. The engine roared to life, and the van merged abruptly into traffic.
"Where to?" Cassian asked, fighting to keep his voice level.
"The airfield, sir," replied the vampire beside him. "From there, you'll be transported to your final destination."
"Which is?"
Silence. Cassian sighed. Clearly, he wasn't going to get answers that easily. He looked down at the summons in his hands again, searching for some hidden meaning in the sparse lines.
A sharp left turn threw Cassian sideways. He gripped the seat tightly, cursing under his breath.
"Hey, there's a guy in a wheelchair back here!" he called out to the driver.
"Apologies, sir," the uniformed man replied tensely. "We've got company."
Cassian twisted as much as he could, peering through the rear window. In the traffic behind them, he spotted two black SUVs weaving rapidly between cars, closing the distance.
"Who are they?" Cassian asked, feeling adrenaline surge through him again.
"Unknown, sir," answered the other soldier, already holding a pistol. "But they're definitely not friendly."
The van accelerated, running a red light. Horns blared and shouts filled the air as the vehicle swerved through traffic.
"Xenophobia's been on the rise lately, and GMA's the main target," said the second vampire sitting across from him in the back.
And not entirely without reason, the captain thought but didn't share.
Right now, he was more concerned with the violent rocking of the van. He clenched his teeth, feeling helpless in his wheelchair. Once, he'd been the one in control during situations like this—now he could only watch.
"Hang on, Captain!" the driver shouted as he took a hard right into a narrow alley.
Cassian slammed against the van's side wall, pain shooting through his back. He swore quietly, trying to brace himself better.
Their pursuers didn't give up. One SUV managed to follow them into the alley, its headlights flooding the rear window and nearly blinding Cassian.
"Sir, any idea who these might be?" the soldier by the driver asked, turning to the vampire beside Cassian.
"Local trash, I'd guess. Our logo draws them like flies to honey." The vampire smiled, and Cassian noticed with a shudder how two sharp fangs appeared.
"Ten minutes ago I was at a bar drinking beer," Cassian laughed. The whole situation felt absurd. "Now I'm in the middle of a chase. You guys sure know how to show a man a good time."
A gunshot cracked through the air. The van's rear window webbed with cracks but held.
"Damn it!" The driver slammed the accelerator. "They're shooting at us!"
Cassian's heart pounded wildly. This wasn't just pursuit—this was an assassination attempt. Why? Did these people really hate vampires that much?
The van burst from the alley back onto the main boulevard, tires screeching as it took a hard left, leaving black streaks on the asphalt.
"How far to the airport?"
"Ten more minutes, Captain," the driver answered quickly. "But I'm not sure we'll last that long."
As if to confirm his words, another shot rang out. This time the bullet punctured a rear tire. The van lurched dangerously as the emergency compressor kicked in, maintaining tire pressure while the driver fought for control.
"We need to do something!" Cassian felt utterly useless in his chair. "We can't just wait to get shot!"
"Take the next turn. Now!" The vampire across from Cassian had turned to watch the road ahead.
The driver didn't hesitate. He wrenched the wheel, sending the van down a narrow side street. Their pursuers, caught off guard, shot past the turn.
"Now what?" the driver asked, slowing down.
"Lights off. Move slow," the vampire ordered. "Now stop."
The van went dark in the secluded alley. Cassian stared intently through the windshield, expecting their pursuers to reappear any second.
"Sir," the soldier by the driver whispered, "I think we lost them."
Just as the words left his mouth, bright light flooded the van. Headlights from the SUVs pinned them in place.
"Damn it!" Cassian spat.
"What now, Major?" The driver's voice was strained.
The vampire across from Cassian nodded to his companion.
"Now you leave it to us."
With speed that left Cassian gaping, both vampires leapt from the van. Outside, screams, gunfire, and gurgling moans erupted.
Cassian looked nervously at the two soldiers up front, but all he saw were their wide, shocked eyes. The driver had gone pale, white-knuckling the wheel while staring fixedly at the rearview mirror.
"Christ!" Cassian nearly jumped when the two vampires returned. They took their seats calmly, and the one called "Major" turned with eerie composure.
"Proceed to the airport," he said finally. "They won't trouble us again."
The driver needed no further encouragement. He hit the gas, and the van sped away from the darkened alley. Cassian cast one last look through the cracked rear window—the two SUVs sat motionless, headlights dead. No movement. Nothing.
What happened to the pursuers? He shot a questioning look at the Major, who merely shrugged in response.
"Forget about it."
\ \ \*
The van sped past the airport security without slowing down. Cassian felt a familiar thrill as he recognized the outlines of aircraft and hangars. At least here he was on familiar ground.
"We've arrived, Captain," the driver announced, making a sharp turn toward a distant runway.
Cassian squinted, trying to make out the silhouette of the waiting aircraft. What he saw made his jaw drop. On the runway stood something that resembled a spaceship from a sci-fi movie more than an airplane.
"Is this our transport?" he asked, unable to hide the astonishment in his voice.
The vampire major smiled faintly.
"Yes, Captain. This is GMA's experimental jet. The fastest and most technologically advanced vehicle on the planet."
The van came to a smooth stop by the jet's boarding stairs. The two military personnel quickly exited and helped Cassian transfer to his wheelchair.
"Have a safe flight, Captain," one of the vampires said, handing him a small suitcase. "Everything you need is inside."
Cassian nodded silently, still too stunned to respond. He turned toward the stairs, wondering how the hell he was supposed to climb them.
"Allow me," a voice sounded behind him.
Before Cassian could react, he was lifted into the air. The vampire carried him up the stairs effortlessly, as if he and the wheelchair weighed no more than a feather. Within seconds, he was aboard the jet.
The interior of the aircraft was just as impressive as its exterior. Smooth surfaces, displays, and plush, ergonomic seats filled the cabin.
"Welcome aboard, Captain Gray," a voice greeted from the front of the jet. "Please make yourself comfortable. We depart in five minutes."
Cassian settled into one of the luxurious seats, which automatically adjusted to his body. He glanced toward the cockpit but saw no one through the open door.
"Who... who am I speaking to?" he asked, looking around slightly confused.
"My apologies, I am designated A12, the artificial intelligence," the voice replied. "I will be your companion during the journey."
Cassian swallowed hard. Artificial intelligence? He'd heard of certain developments in that field, but... This definitely wasn't standard equipment on any military aircraft he knew.
"And where's the pilot?" he asked, curious to see the person operating this marvel.
"I will be your pilot, Captain Gray," A12 responded with a hint of amusement. "Don't worry, I designed this jet. I can operate it with ease."
Before the speechless Cassian could respond, the jet's engines came to life with a quiet hum. He felt slight pressure against his seat as the machine began ascending vertically into the air.
"Prepare for takeoff," A12 announced belatedly.
Cassian gripped the armrests, expecting the familiar push of acceleration. Instead, he barely felt any movement. The jet shot forward at incredible speed, which he could only gauge by the view through the window, yet the cabin remained perfectly calm.
"Incredible... how is this possible?" Cassian murmured, watching the runway lights below shrink at dizzying speed.
"Inertial dampeners, Captain," A12 explained. "They nearly neutralize the effects of acceleration and gravity. Comfortable, isn't it?"
Cassian nodded silently, trying to process that he was flying in the most advanced aircraft he'd ever seen, piloted by artificial intelligence. Just fantastic!
"A12," he began hesitantly, "can you tell me where we're going?"
"Of course, Captain," A12 replied. "Our destination is GMA's lunar base."
Cassian leaned back in his seat, feeling his head spin.
The Moon? He hadn't heard of any base there. He didn't even know humans had returned to the Moon since Apollo 17 landed there back in 1972.
"Why?" he asked the next question from his endless list of "important" ones, skipping the obvious to get straight to what interested him most. "Why are they sending me to the Moon?"
"For special training, Captain," A12 answered cheerfully. "You've been selected to pilot GMA's newest space fighter."
Cassian couldn't suppress a bitter laugh.
"Me? Pilot? A12, I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm in a wheelchair. How do they expect me to fly anything?"
"Your physical limitations won't be an issue, Captain," A12 assured him. "You will undergo... modifications that will enable you to meet the challenges."
Cassian felt a cold shiver run down his spine. Modifications? What the hell does that mean?
"What kind of modifications?" he asked, dreading the answer.
"I'm sorry, Captain, but I'm not authorized to discuss details," A12 replied. "Everything will be explained when we arrive at the lunar base."
Cassian shook his head, feeling confused and uneasy. He turned to the window, trying to find comfort in the view outside. But what he saw only intensified his disorientation.
Earth appeared as a massive blue-green sphere wrapped in a thin atmospheric layer. Stars shone brightly against the black void, more numerous and vivid than Cassian had ever seen from the ground.
The sense of scale and insignificance struck him. Here he was, Cassian Gray, former military pilot, now disabled, hurtling through space toward the Moon. To be... modified? To fly again? It all seemed so unreal.
"A12," he said quietly, "how long until we arrive?"
"At our current speed, we'll reach lunar orbit in approximately seventeen minutes," A12 answered.
Cassian nodded silently. Seventeen minutes. Such a short time for his entire life to change.
Movement outside the window suddenly caught his attention. A small, glinting dot was rapidly approaching them.
"A12, do you see that?" Cassian asked, pointing at the window.
"Yes, Captain," A12 replied. "That's a Tiger-class space fighter. One of the models you'll be learning to pilot."
"A space fighter!" Cassian leaned forward, trying to discern details of the approaching craft. Suddenly the fighter accelerated, passing them at incredible speed. Still, Cassian managed to glimpse its elegant lines and gleaming surface before it shrank back to a dot and vanished from sight.
"Incredible," Cassian whispered. "It's fast."
"Tiger-class fighters are capable of speeds far exceeding those of the aircraft you've piloted," A12 explained. "They're designed for rapid response to spaceborne threats."
"Spaceborne threats? A12, what's really going on? Why has GMA suddenly revealed the existence of vampires and is now developing space fighters?"
A12 fell silent for a moment, as if considering its response.
"You're perceptive, Captain. That is the correct chronology."
"You didn't answer my question."
"The situation is complex," A12 finally replied. "Everything will be explained when we reach the base."
"Are we in danger?"
"Yes, humanity faces a threat."
Cassian frowned. A threat! What kind of threat could be serious enough to warrant revealing vampires and developing space technology?
Before he could ask more questions, A12 preempted him.
"We're approaching lunar orbit. Please prepare for entry to the lunar base."
Cassian turned back to the window. In the distance, the gray surface of Earth's satellite now appeared, pockmarked with craters. What immediately caught his attention was the massive structure on the Moon's dark side rising above the lunar horizon.
The base resembled a futuristic city beneath a transparent dome. Gleaming buildings and antennas stretched toward the starry sky, while numerous small ships and shuttles circled the area.
"This is... incredible," Cassian whispered, feeling his breath catch. "And all this was built in secret from the public?"
"It wasn't built by humans. The credit belongs to others."
"Excuse me?"
"That's information you'll receive access to later, Captain."
"And now GMA is using it?"
"Yes, and much more. GMA possesses resources and technologies that exceed even the wildest speculations of ordinary people, Captain," A12 responded.
The jet began decelerating as it approached the doors of a massive hangar at the far end of the base. Cassian felt uncontrollable tension building in his body. In minutes, he would set foot on the Moon, entering a world whose existence he'd never suspected.
"A12," he asked quietly, "do you think I'm ready for this?"
"Captain," A12 replied with a note of warmth, "you were chosen not just for your past experience but for your potential. I believe you'll excel at the challenges ahead."
Cassian nodded silently, trying to draw confidence from A12's words.
"I've personally researched you, and the recommendations were... consistent," the AI concluded with a slight crackle of static in its voice.
The hangar doors slowly opened, revealing its interior. Cassian glimpsed rows of gleaming spacecraft and robots attending to various tasks.
"Welcome to Lunar Base Ares, Captain Gray," A12 announced as the jet descended smoothly onto the landing pad. "Your training begins now."
CHAPTER -2-
The heavy hangar airlock slammed shut with a dull thud, cutting off the mesmerizing view of the bright starry sky. Cassian Gray slowly turned his gaze toward the majestic panorama of the lunar base. The air, thick with the scent of ozone and machine oil, flooded his lungs—a familiar, almost comforting sensation. He carefully maneuvered his wheelchair in the unfamiliar gravity, its metal frame vibrating from the strange resonant frequency pulsing through the station's superstructure.
The vast space stretched before him—brilliantly lit, filled with futuristic ships and frenetic activity. Dominating it all was a massive sign: "Global Military Alliance" (GMA) with its familiar emblem, beneath which workers moved with unnatural speed, as if time here obeyed different laws.
Amid the chaos of motion and sound, one figure stood out—a young man, barely more than a boy in uniform, approaching with measured steps. The magnetic plates on his boots emitted a soft click with each stride.
"Colonel Loren Ashton," he introduced himself, extending a hand. "I trust your journey was... enlightening."
Cassian gripped the offered hand, surprised by its strength. He suppressed a shiver at the unnatural touch—Loren's skin was cold, almost synthetic. His eyes involuntarily flicked to the rank insignia, marking the youth who looked barely past twenty as a high-ranking officer.
"Enlightening is putting it mildly, Colonel," Cassian replied, his voice rougher than usual from the dry hangar air. "I'd say... shocking."
Ashton gave a faint smile.
"Let me give you a quick tour. My time is limited."
They moved through the labyrinth of machinery and personnel. Cassian struggled to keep pace in his wheelchair, fighting the unfamiliar gravity that played tricks with his traction. His gaze darted from one impossible ship to another—organic shapes that seemed grown rather than constructed.
"You've noticed the beauties." Loren's voice carried a note of pride. "Those are Lemurian fighters. This LM-24 'Tiger' model might even be yours to pilot, Captain."
Cassian frowned at the unfamiliar term. His hand instinctively reached toward the nearest ship, expecting cold metal. Instead, his fingers sank into a soft, pulsing material. A distant, almost ultrasonic whine pierced his mind.
"Lemurian?" Cassian asked, his confusion mounting. "As in... the lost civilization?"
Loren studied him, a playful spark of curiosity flashing in his blue eyes.
"Bravo, Captain. Few have heard the term. But... the more you learn, the more you'll realize how little you actually know. The Lemurians weren't a myth. Lemuria was... far more."
A deafening engine roar forced Cassian to instinctively duck. The air blast carried a scent—ozone mixed with something sickly sweet, like burnt caramel. Colonel Ashton remained unfazed, merely tilting into the gust.
"Don't worry, just a test," he said over the fading noise. "We must be ready for anything here. Life in space is fragile, Captain. One small mistake could mean the end for all of us."
Cassian pushed up slightly on his armrests, scanning the area. His gaze lingered on the repeating tattoos on some technicians' palms—identical symbols whose meaning escaped him. He didn't dare ask the colonel. Just nodded silently.
They continued past labs, training halls, and logistics centers. With every meter, Cassian felt his old life slipping further away. Everything seemed unreal.
The GMA boys don’t mess around. And their budget’s clearly bloated. The thought carried an edge of envy as he recalled the worn-out furniture of his old postings.
Finally, after a disorienting maze of turns, corridors, and elevators of varying sizes, they stopped before an unassuming door. The colonel keyed in a code and ushered Cassian into his new quarters.
"You'll be staying here for the next few weeks," he said, handing over a device wrapped in dark leather with the GMA emblem engraved.
"The tablet has everything else. Just sign the documents with your fingerprint." Ashton pointed to the screen. "Read, select, sign. Then you’ll have access."
Exhaustion won out, and Cassian yawned involuntarily. The colonel cut short his explanation, noting the newcomer's fatigue.
"You look spent. Get some rest now. Briefing in five hours. Plenty of time for the paperwork." He activated a holographic map on the tablet, marking the route back. "Don’t be late."
Leaning in slightly, almost touching the man in the wheelchair, his stern expression softened into something warmer, more human.
"If you don’t sign, don’t come to the briefing." He straightened abruptly and clapped Cassian’s shoulder. "You’ll be fine, Captain."
With that, Colonel Ashton walked away, leaving Cassian alone in the corridor.
"You’ll be fine" my ass. Captain Cassian Gray took a deep breath and tossed the fallen duffel bag back onto his lap. He secured the tablet, then shoved his wheelchair forward with a powerful push, rolling toward the door.
He hesitated for a moment before placing his palm on the access scanner. A slight tingle ran through his fingers. The screen flashed "DNA clearance confirmed" and the door slid aside with a quiet hiss.
The small room appeared sterile and impersonal—a narrow bed, a desk with a monitor, a modest wardrobe. The air carried a faint antiseptic scent mixed with fresh paint. Everything's functional, no unnecessary decorations. Typical military base, he thought, but then gave a bitter smile.
"No, nothing here is typical. Is it?"
With one motion, Cassian tossed his bag onto the floor and locked the wheelchair by the bedside. In practiced movement, he transferred himself onto the tightly made bed. He sank heavily into the crisp sheets, immediately feeling exhaustion wash over him in waves.
It took him three or four breaths before he remembered the tablet. He found it on the bed where he’d left it. With a sigh, he picked it up and pressed his thumb to the screen, activating the document review process.
A long list of files marked "Top Secret" scrolled before his eyes. He had a lot—a lot—of reading ahead. He selected the first in the series, scanned his retina when prompted, and began.
With every line he read, the world he knew blurred further. The truth about the Xilarians, about ancient alien technology, about humanity's real history—it all flooded his mind in a torrent threatening to drown him.
Lemuria wasn’t a myth or a lost civilization. It was an advanced alien race that had visited Earth thousands of years ago. They left traces of their technology—technology now being used by the GMA against the Xilarians.
And the Xilarians… Cassian shuddered reading about them. A race every bit as advanced as the Lemurians, militarized, ruthless, determined to conquer every civilization they encountered. The reasons for their hatred of the Lemurians remained murky, but their intentions were crystal clear.
Hours passed as Cassian kept reading, absorbing information that rewrote everything. The vampires, the fighters—it all started making sense. A terrifying, logical sense.
Finally, physically and emotionally drained, he set the tablet aside. His head pulsed with information, questions, fears. He lay back, closing his eyes, but sleep refused to come. In the silence, he caught muffled footsteps growing louder. Then—quiet voices immediately snagged his attention. Cassian propped himself up on his elbows.
"...the first stage of transformation must begin tomorrow," came a woman's voice.
"Dr. Chen, what’s your opinion on the matter?" A man spoke—Colonel Ashton’s voice, Cassian recognized. "You were certain the modifications were risky, especially for someone who had been..."
The voices faded as the speakers moved down the hall. Cassian remained frozen on his elbows, heart hammering. One thought overtook him: Transformation? Modifications? Were they talking about me?
It took him a few seconds to shake off the unease and refocus on filling in the gaps in his knowledge. He needed more intel.
The next file he opened was titled "Required Modifications." He paused, setting the tablet down to stare at a spot on the ceiling. He emptied his mind of the intrusive thoughts urging impatience, took a slow breath—then another.
Still unsure if he was ready, Cassian selected the file. His eyes widened at the header alone. The hairs on his arms stood up. What followed: genetic manipulation, neural implants, symbiotic organisms embedded into the body... All necessary to make a human body capable of interfacing with a Lemurian fighter.
He shut his eyes.
The human body... how much of it remained human afterward? Was it doomed? Was there any going back after such alterations?
Cassian sat up sharply, his stomach rebelling as if trying to escape his body. His fingers clenched the bedframe, his abdomen twisting in agony. He was going to be sick.
Frantically scanning the room, panic seized his expression. He couldn't afford to lose control here, not now. The wheelchair wouldn’t help. He practically spilled himself onto the floor and began crawling desperately, dragging his unresponsive lower half toward the bathroom. It was slow, torturous, humiliating. Despite the strength in his arms and the low gravity, the paralysis below his waist made every inch a struggle. He fought down the rising convulsions in his gut, praying he’d make it in time.
With one final desperate lunge, he reached the door. Heaving his torso up, he slapped the sensor lock. The door slid open, and he barely waited before throwing himself forward, slamming it shut behind him. Only then did he let go. His body convulsed violently on the cold tiles. Somehow, he managed to clutch the toilet before the retching took hold. His stomach twisted painfully, bitter bile burning his throat. Every muscle locked uncontrollably. Cold sweat beaded his face. He couldn’t breathe. Weak. Helpless. He couldn’t stop this degrading act. He emptied his stomach, the spasms easing only for him to collapse onto the tiles. His lungs strained, gulping air through his acid-scorched throat. His body, damp and clammy with sweat, began shaking uncontrollably. Hot tears carved paths down his pale cheeks, mingling with the sour, bitter taste in his mouth. He clenched his fists until his knuckles cracked.
The thought of the beautiful fighter jet awaiting him now felt like a cruel mockery. To pilot that marvel, he'd have to sacrifice a significant part of his human essence—at least physically.
After several minutes, he returned to the room. His gaze fell on the tablet. His own reflection in the black screen startled him—his eyes appeared larger, darker, his face gaunt and ashen.
A few sections remained unread. Part of him wanted to hurl the device away, to flee from this madness. But another part—the part that had always driven him to take risks, to fly faster and higher—pushed him to continue, just as the thought that he might walk again did.
With a muted sigh, Cassian adjusted his body into a more comfortable position. The bed creaked softly beneath his weight, a sound that somehow calmed him with its simplicity.
The next section outlined the projected timeline. Six months. That's how long he had to prepare. Six months—the time it took Earth to complete half its orbit around the Sun. Six months to become something more than human. Did he even want this?
"Damn it," Cassian muttered under his breath. The words echoed in the sterile room.
Unexpectedly, as if anticipating this, the tablet screen flickered and displayed a message:
"For voice assistant - press HERE."
Without hesitation, Cassian pressed his thumb against it. Almost immediately, the small device emitted:
"Welcome back, Captain Gray."
"A12?" Cassian recognized the voice.
"Indeed, Captain." A12's voice vibrated through the air in a way Cassian could physically feel, as if the words gained density in the low gravity.
Hundreds of questions suddenly surged through Cassian's mind, jostling for attention, creating a painful pressure. But only one managed to escape his lips:
"Why me?"
The holographic avatar of A12 materialized before him, offering a slight, almost human smile. For a moment, Cassian wondered if that smile was just a reflection of his own confusion on the ephemeral surface of the hologram.
"Because you're the most suitable candidate. We've already discussed this."
"And yet."
"You possess something GMA needs—the ability to adapt, to survive, to push beyond your limits." The words hung in the air.
Cassian shook his head unconvinced, feeling his brain rattling against his skull, trying to persuade him otherwise.
"These modifications... they'll change me."
"You'll become something greater," A12 countered. "A human can't interface with Lemurian technology."
"There are other pilots, right?"
"There are."
"And they've all undergone this... modification?"
"No. They chose the alternative. Every human so far has opted to continue as vampires. That way, they avoid the modification process." The finality in the word "vampires" seemed to ricochet off the metal walls before finally embedding itself in Cassian's consciousness.
He closed his eyes for a moment. In the darkness behind his eyelids, shapes and colors swirled as his brain attempted to visualize the impossible.
"Fine. So this program includes vampires too," he said. "What exactly do I need to do?"
"You have two options. Consent to the modifications or become a vampire."
Cassian stared through the hologram, trying to penetrate beyond its interface. He searched for hidden meaning in the AI's words. Vampire? Modifications? His voice trembled as he spoke them, as if uttering the words might trigger the transformation. Both options sounded equally impossible and horrifying. Another convulsion twisted his gut.
"This... this is quite the dilemma—kill myself or kill myself. Is that it?"
"I assure you, Captain, the situation is entirely serious," A12 replied evenly. "Our time is limited, and the Xilarian threat is real and imminent. Were this not the case, we wouldn't be asking you—or anyone—to make such a sacrifice."
Cassian tossed the tablet onto the bed and ran a hand through his disheveled hair.
"Become a vampire? Or let you turn me into... what? A cyborg?" he continued, as if not hearing the AI's words. He leaned forward and snatched the tablet back, waving it at the hologram that remained unperturbed in the center of the room.
"How the hell do you expect me to make this decision?"
"I understand the volume of information is overwhelming," A12's voice sounded almost sympathetic. "But I'll reiterate—an ordinary human cannot pilot a Lemurian fighter. The neural interface can't connect to a human brain, and it requires physical capabilities, reactions, and perceptions beyond normal human limits. Let me put it this way—it's like putting a three-toed sloth in an F35... do you understand?"
Cassian's gaze lingered on the small window of his quarters and the gray lunar landscape beyond. His reflection in the glass appeared almost ghostly. The thought that thousands of kilometers away, Earth continued its normal rhythm—completely unaware of the looming threat and his own torment—made him shudder.
"What about the other pilots?" he asked without turning. "How did they make their choice?"
"As I mentioned, they chose to become vampires," A12 replied. "Some were quick to decide, others less so, but the choice was always theirs."
Cassian slowly turned toward the tablet.
"And what exactly do these... modifications entail?" He felt his tongue stumble over the word "modifications," as if speaking it aloud might trigger the process itself.
The holographic display flickered and shifted, revealing a detailed schematic of a human body. The glow from the hologram reflected in Cassian's eyes, creating the illusion of an inner radiance. Various parts were marked and annotated with technical terms he barely understood.
"The process involves a series of genetic manipulations and cybernetic enhancements," A12 began. "The goal is to elevate your reflexes, strength, and endurance to levels comparable to those of vampires. Additionally, neural interfaces will be implanted, allowing you to directly sync with a Lemurian fighter. Though I should note—none of this would be necessary if you were already a vampire."
Cassian's stomach twisted unpleasantly again. He sank heavily onto the bed, his eyes fixed on the holographic diagram.
"And the pain?" he asked quietly. "How... intense is the process?"
"I won’t lie to you, Captain," A12 answered. "The process is extremely intense..." At those words, the hairs on Cassian’s neck stood on end. His body still remembered the agony from the crash and the long recovery that followed. It tensed now, anticipating fresh torment.
"We employ pain management protocols and accelerated healing. So you needn’t worry on that front."
Cassian closed his eyes, processing the information. When he opened them again, they burned with curiosity—flecked with sparks of fear.
"And if I choose to become a vampire? What does that involve?"
The hologram shifted once more, this time displaying a comparison between human and vampiric physiology.
"The transformation process is faster, but no less intense," A12 explained. "You’ll gain superhuman strength, speed, and endurance. Additionally, you’ll develop rapid regenerative abilities. But there are drawbacks."
"Such as?" Cassian asked, though part of him didn’t want to hear the answer.
"You’ll require small amounts of human blood to maintain peak performance," A12 stated matter-of-factly. "You’ll also develop a severe allergy to silver. And, of course, you’ll theoretically become immortal."
Cassian felt his head spin. He shifted his weight, needing movement to escape the weight of the decision pressing down on him.
"Will I walk again?"
"In either case."
"And I have to choose now?" he asked, his voice barely audible.
"Not immediately," A12 replied. "But soon. Time is limited, and the adaptation process will take time regardless of your choice."
Cassian gave a silent nod, calculating his options. Unconsciously, he turned back to the window, staring into the distance where Earth hung like a beautiful blue orb against the black horizon.
"Can I speak to the others who’ve gone through it? Some of the other pilots?" he asked quietly. "I’d like to hear about their experiences—their reasons for choosing."
"Of course," A12 answered. "At tomorrow’s briefing. You’ll have the chance to ask questions and gain clarity."
Cassian nodded again, feeling a wave of relief that starkly contrasted with the gravity of the decision ahead. At least he wouldn’t be making this choice completely blind.
"Alright," he said. "I’ll talk to them first, then decide."
"A wise decision, Captain Gray," A12 replied. "For now, I suggest you rest. Tomorrow will be a long day."
"And if I choose neither option?" The answer to this question gnawed at him just as much.
"Then you’ll wake up tomorrow in your small apartment, in bed beside your wheelchair, with no memory of any of this."
"You’re cruel." Cassian lay back, exhausted both physically and emotionally. He closed his eyes, trying to quiet the storm of thoughts.
"Objective." The hologram flickered out with a soft chime.
Sleep didn’t come easily to Cassian. In the darkness of his quarters, holographic visions danced behind his closed eyelids—vampires with gleaming fangs and unnatural speed, cyborgs with metal implants and glowing eyes. And behind it all, the shadow of the Xilarians, threatening to consume everything.
The alternative is boredom...
Cassian turned onto his side, seeking a more comfortable position in the lunar bed. Tomorrow would be a new day. Tomorrow, he’d meet the other pilots and learn more. But as he lay there in the silence of the lunar night, one thought circled relentlessly in his mind:
The third option isn’t for me... but the other two? Whichever I choose, I won’t be myself anymore. Maybe that’s for the best.